


With Apologies to George Bailey

by VagrantWriter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Eve, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Past Ramsay Bolton/Theon Greyjoy, Throbb Xmas Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VagrantWriter/pseuds/VagrantWriter
Summary: Throbb XMas Week. Day 4: Cultural touchstones.Prompt:I’m haunted by my mistakes and what could have been, and I hate what I’ve become, but maybe it’s not too late to reform my ways since you think I deserve a second chance.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 65





	With Apologies to George Bailey

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a big "Christmas" person (I much prefer Halloween), but _It's a Wonderful Life_ is one of my favorite movies. Like, ever. I know, I know. It's cheesy as hell, and there are definitely parts of it that haven't aged well, but...gosh, that ending. I cry literally every time.
> 
> So, here's my contribution to Throbb Christmas week, with other Christmas movies/stories thrown in. And of course I had to add a little angst in. So a few quick warnings:
> 
> -Ramsay (aka Ser Not Appearing in This Fic) is hovering around the periphery, and his relationship with Theon is very much abusive.
> 
> -Though most of the abuse mentioned is emotional, there is one mention of physical abuse. All abuse takes place "off-screen."
> 
> I hope I'm not giving away too much to say it has a happy ending. It _is_ a Christmas fic, after all.

The fire was warm and cheery. In the next room, the family watched _A Christmas Story_. Robb had seen it enough times to know the exact scene they were on now—the kid was about to stick his tongue to the flagpole. Hearing Rickon’s shrieks of laughter coaxed a smile on Robb’s face, but it was not enough to banish the dark clouds from his mind.

He stared into the fire, watching it crackle. Feeling cold.

“What are you doing out here?”

Robb lifted his head and realized he’d been standing here long enough for someone to come looking for him. Of course it would be Jon.

“Do we need more logs or…?” Jon’s voice trailed off as he came up from behind.

The air grew heavy with silence. The voices and laughter continued to drift out of the living room, but Robb felt very far away from them, as if he were at the bottom of the ocean or on the moon. Somewhere cold and quiet and cut off from everything. Long shadows danced from the fireplace across the carpet, and outside a quiet snow had begun to fall.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back. “I know you’re worried about him.” Jon’s hand was solid, grounding. Pulled Robb out of his head. “But there’s nothing else you can _do_ for him, and I’m tired of seeing you try and try, only to have it thrown back in your face.”

“I know.” Robb felt a stinging in the back of his eyes. “I _know_. But I keep thinking, maybe if I just…”

“No.” The hand tightened its grip, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s not on you, Robb. You’ve done so much for him, given him so many opportunities to get his act together, way beyond the point any normal person would. But it’s not on you to drag Theon out of his misery. Not if he’s intent on staying there.” He gave an uneasy smile, sympathetic. “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped. Trust me, I know.”

It was nothing Robb hadn’t heard a thousand times before. From his mother, from his brothers and sisters, from Jon himself. But maybe this time it would get through to him.

Because this time they were also Theon’s words.

_“I don’t want to see you ever again, I don’t want to hear from you ever again! Leave me alone, Stark! Eat a dick and go to hell.”_ And the blip as their call was ended, Robb left staring at his phone’s screen, ears still ringing.

He gritted his teeth against the tears. He hadn’t cried since his father’s funeral, and he wasn’t going to cry now, on Christmas Eve, with his family waiting for him to finish tossing another log on the fire and then come back to join them for the movie.

“Hey.” Jon’s voice softened, and putting his other hand on Robb’s other shoulder, he turned his cousin away from the fire. “Hey, it’s alright. I know. But Theon knows your door is always open, right?”

Robb nodded. He hoped so. God, he hoped so. But he’d seen firsthand how tight Ramsay’s grip on Theon was. He’d never struck Theon—or so Theon insisted—but he sure treated his so-called “boyfriend” like shit, sneering, constantly putting him down in front of others, loudly correcting him for the slightest thing. Robb shuddered to think what went on behind closed doors.

“Then that’s all you can do,” Jon said.

He pulled Robb in, wrapped his arms around him. It was what Robb needed. It pulled him back, lifted the gauze that had muffled in around him. The room was warm. The sounds of the entire family laughing came roaring back.

Jon held him for several long moments before finally pulling away. “Let’s go finish the movie.”

Robb let himself be led back to the family room, where he nestled in between Jon and Sansa. Bran sat in his favorite chair, a blanket draped over his lap, and Arya was sprawled out on the carpet. Rickon sat on Catelyn’s lap, and his laughter was so contagious that Robb found himself joining along, even if his mind wasn’t really on the movie. By the time it finished—the last scene, with the camera panning away from Ralphie in his bed, happy with his Red Rider BB gun, the only gift he’d truly wanted for Christmas—Robb’s mood _was_ lighter.

Rickon let out a yawn.

“Ready for bed, sweetie?” Catelyn asked.

“No,” Rickon argued, stifling another yawn. “I’m old enough. I can stay up with you.”

“Santa won’t come until you’re asleep.”

He turned and pouted at her. “ _Mom_ , I’m seven. I don’t believe in Santa anymore.”

“I’ll take him to bed,” Robb offered. “I’m about ready to turn in myself.”

“Are you?” Sansa asked in surprise. “We were going to watch _It’s a Wonderful Life_ next.”

Robb waved her away. “I’ve seen that one a thousand times too.” He lifted Rickon, grunting a bit at the effort. He really wasn’t such a baby anymore. When had that happened? “I’ll see you all in the morning” he called as they made their way up the stairs. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” they called after him, then returned to television, bathed in the glow of the Christmas tree lights.

Rickon’s room was just down the hall from his own.

“I’m not tired,” Rickon said as Robb pulled back the covers.

“Sure you are.”

Rickon pulled a face, and just when it seemed his might throw another of his world-famous tantrums, he let it go and crawled into his bed. A Christmas miracle. He snuggled in among his dinosaur blankets and Robb tucked him in.

“Why isn’t Theon here?”

That caught Robb by surprise, and he focused on folding the sheet up to Rickon’s chin while he considered how to answer. “Theon’s spending Christmas with his boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t want to spend it with us?” The hurt in his brother’s voice stung Robb.

“I’m sure he does,” Robb lied. “But he’s got his own family now.” The words tasted like bile on his tongue.

Rickon nodded, but Robb could see he didn’t really understand. “Will you and Jon and Sansa and everyone else get your own families?”

“Someday,” Robb replied. He patted the covers. “But we’ll always come back for Christmas.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Rickon let out another yawn, and despite his earlier protests, he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Visions of sugar plums and all that.

Robb made his way to his own room, quiet and dark. The window looked out over the garage and onto the street below, gathering snow. The light from the lamppost, usually so harsh, was muffled, filtered. He decided to leave the curtains open and changed into his flannel pajamas and crawled into bed.

Despite _his_ earlier protests, he wasn’t a bit sleepy. Tired, yes. Bone-tired. But his mind was too awake.

He should let it go. “ _Don’t let them live rent-free in your head_ ,” his father had always told him when he was ruminating of people and things that bothered him.

But the thing was…even if he could just forget Theon—and he couldn’t, wouldn’t—he still felt responsible for it all. He’d been the one to push Theon away first. There was hardly a day that went by, over half a year later, when he didn’t look back at that day and wish he’d said something else, done something else.

He still remembered how _angry_ he’d been when Theon had lunged for Bran’s mugger. The man had had a knife against Bran’s throat, for God’s sake. Theon was just as likely to have gotten his brother killed as save him. But he had saved him. Knocked the knife out of the mugger’s hands and wrestled the man to the ground, while Robb ran to Bran’s side. Reckless, he’d been so reckless. Bran could have been hurt. _Theon_ could have been hurt.

“ _I was protecting our family_ ,” Theon had said when Robb had demanded to know what he’d been thinking.

“ _My family_!” Robb screamed back, holding a frightened and sobbing Bran to his chest. “ _Mine, not yours. Leave the protecting up to me, Theon. You’ll just get someone hurt_.”

The words had been stinging to his own ears, even back then. Even several days later, when he’d gone to apologize. But by then it was too late. Theon had already fled into Ramsay’s arms. Or maybe it was more appropriate to say that Ramsay had wriggled his way in through the wound Robb had left.

Robb turned over. The entire bed squeaked. He and Theon used to sleep in this very bed together. When they were kids, of course, and things had been innocent. Easy. He remembered past Christmases, the two of them huddled together, waiting anxiously for morning, speculating what would be waiting for them under the tree. Funny, Robb barely remembered any of his actual gifts, looking back all these years, but he vividly remembered that feeling of childlike giddiness, sharing it with Theon, and sometimes Jon—though he, like Rickon, never seemed to have trouble falling straight asleep on Christmas Eve.

Theon had first kissed him on Christmas Eve, when he was fifteen and Robb was fourteen. He’d been caught by surprise, unprepared, because _he’d_ been the one planning to catch Theon under the mistletoe all night—somewhere with just the two of them, which had been the real hang-up of his plan. In a house with so many people, it was hard to find a time and place to be alone. And then Theon had to go and ruin it by just…doing it. No mistletoe. No atmosphere. Just the two of them under the covers. It had been his first kiss.

It had been perfect.

The next Christmas had been his first without his father. In his memory, that was the quietest Christmas. No movies that year, no music. Just an awkward dinner before everyone had shuffled awkwardly up to their rooms for the night. Robb had just wanted to go to bed, to close his eyes and have Christmas be over. But fifteen minutes after the lights had been turned off, Theon had come to his room, climbed into bed with him, and before Robb could protest that he wasn’t in the mood for fooling around, Theon had pulled him close and held him. Just…held him.

Robb could still remember the smell of him, the warmth through the thin shirt he wore as pajamas. He’d clutched back and cried, realizing how _tired_ he was from holding it in. Ever since he’d gotten the news at school little over a month ago, called out of class and informed that his father had been in an accident. He thought maybe he’d cried then. He definitely cried at the funeral, but even that had been an effort, choking back the ugliest of his sobs so as not to make a scene. He let those ugly sobs out now, Theon’s chest muffling them. And Theon had held him.

There was wetness on the pillow, and coming back to the present, Robb realized there were tears in his eyes. He wiped them away. Looked like the Ghost of Christmas Past was living rent-free in his head at the moment.

He doubted he’d get much sleep tonight.

With a groan, he turned over again, and again the entire mattress creaked. But as the bed settled, he became aware of another sound. A soft, rhythmic tapping.

He half-sat up, propping himself on his elbow. He looked around the room, but it was too dark to make out much. Just the faint light from the window. He jolted when he saw a figure crouched there, tapping against the glass. “Psst! Robb!”

In a flash, he was out of bed, trailing his blankets and heavy winter comforter with him. His brain was in a fog, and he wasn’t sure the figure wasn’t just another Ghost of Christmas Past until he unlocked the window and pulled up the pane. A very solid Theon Greyjoy came barreling in, bringing a cold gust of wind and clumps of snow with him.

“Theon! What are you doing here?”

“I hope I didn’t wake you. I wasn’t sure where else to go.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine.” As Robb slammed the window closed, Theon brushed the snow from his hair and shoulders. He wasn’t wearing a coat, Robb noted, and his cheeks were tinged pink with windburn. And… “Your mouth’s bleeding.”

“Huh?” Theon wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, and stared at the small smear of blood there. “Huh,” he said nonchalantly, “my mouth’s bleeding. How about that.”

“Did Ramsay do that?” Robb took a lurching step towards Theon. “Did he hit you?”

“I left him.”

Robb blinked. “You left him?”

“Yes.”

“Because he hit you?”

“No, he did that after I told him I was leaving.”

“God, Theon.” Robb gripped his shoulders. “You need to file a police report.”

Theon waved him off dismissively. “Not right now. I’m tired.” He pulled away and flopped down onto Robb’s bed.

Robb didn’t want to push the issue. But he _did_ want to push the issue. “At least let me take a picture. For evidence.”

Theon shrugged. “Fine.”

Robb hurried to grab his phone off the nightstand, and as he got the camera ready, he noticed Theon watching him contemplatively.

“I…I hope I’m not imposing,” Theon said, the goofy grin gone. “I didn’t know if I’d be welcome back here after…”

“No, no, no.” Robb dropped to his knees next to the bed. “You’re _always_ welcome here, Theon. I’m glad you came.”

Theon wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“What made you decide to leave?” Robb asked.

Theon drew his lips together in a thin, tight line. “Something he said.”

“Something Ramsay said? To you?”

Theon nodded. “He said everyone would be better off if I’d never been born.”

“Oh, Theon.” Robb squeezed his knee. Theon’s jeans were soaked through from the snow. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

Theon was silent for a moment. “I did, at first.” He drummed his fingers on the bed. “I thought about all the people who would be better off without me. My father, Asha, _your_ family…”

“No.” Robb clutched his other knee. “That’s not true. How could you even think that?”

Theon’s grin was more subdued this time, self-deprecating. “I mean, I haven’t exactly been the easiest child to look after, have I? Lord knows I nearly put your parents into early—” He stopped himself just in time from saying “graves.” He coughed awkwardly instead. “You have to admit, their lives would have been easier without me.”

“Maybe,” Robb admitted. “But if you think none of the rest of us ever gave them trouble, then you _really_ weren’t paying attention.”

Theon grinned sheepishly, for a moment, before it fell away. “I have a lot of regrets about how I treated your parents. Your entire family, really. Jon especially. And you.”

Robb just nodded. He had regrets of his own, and often wondered if his parents did as well. But he couldn’t put words in their mouths, especially not his father.

“So you thought about all the people who would be better off without you?” he prodded. “Don’t tell me you left Ramsay because you thought _he_ would be better off without you. Theon, you know you deserve better than—”

“It was Bran,” Theon interrupted.

Robb blinked in surprise.

“The one person I knew who wouldn’t be better off if I’d never been born,” Theon continued, clasping his hands between his knees, where Robb was still kneeling. “I saved his life that day. I _know_ I did. You were right to be mad at me. It was incredibly reckless. But I did save his life.” He lifted his head, and for the first time since his mysterious appearance, his eyes met Robb’s. It was hard to see, just the soft light from the street illuminating the planes of his face. “And if Bran had died, it would have torn your family apart all over again. So…I did good that day. I think.”

Robb slowly rose and placed his hands on either side of Theon’s face. His skin was cold from being out in the snow. “You did, Theon. I wish I’d told you. I was just so…I’d just lost Father the year before and I came so close to losing Bran _and_ you…” One of the tears he’d been fighting all night broke free from his lashes and trickled down his cheek. “Bran’s not the only one who wouldn’t be better off if you’d never been born. _I_ wouldn’t.”

Theon shook his head, cradled between Robb’s hands. “You’d still have Jon.”

“Theon.” Robb used the gentle chiding his mother often used on Rickon and tightened his grip on Theon’s face. Not too tight, of course. In fact, his hands and arms were shaking. “I’m telling you my life has _always_ been better when you’re in it.”

Theon’s eyes bored into his, as if trying to search out the lie.

“Me too,” he said at last. “I mean—with you—my life is better with you—you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Robb said, and just like that, it was as if all the oxygen came rushing back into the room and Robb realized he hadn’t been breathing right. He half-stood and leaned in and wrapped his arms around Theon’s shoulders. Drew him in for a hug and was relieved to feel Theon hugging back, even harder. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too.”

Robb took a picture of Theon’s face, then cleaned the cut—it really wasn’t that bad, but it would bruise and was already beginning to swell—and then fetched some of his spare pajamas so Theon could change out of his sodden clothes. And then they crawled back into bed.

Theon’s feet were still freezing cold whenever they brushed Robb’s, and he seemed to take a wicked delight in making Robb jump.

“Cut it out,” Robb finally said, swatting him. “You need to get some sleep. Tomorrow I have to tell Mom everything, and then we’re going straight to the police station to file a report.”

“On Christmas Day?”

“The police don’t close on Christmas, no. Besides, I’m sure everyone will want to know you’re taken care of.”

Theon snorted. His breath was hot against Robb’s chest. They weren’t quite face-to-face. “You don’t have to drag your mom into this, let alone everyone else. I don’t want to bum anyone out.”

“It’s not bumming them out. They’ll just be happy that you’re safe.”

Theon stared at him intently, and Robb could see him working up the nerve to say something. And he thought he knew what it would be. “Robb, I’m really sorry about—”

“That can wait too,” Robb interrupted. He reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Theon’s face and kissed his forehead. “Your Christmas present to me can be accepting it when I say I’m glad you’re back.”

Theon’s face softened, and a genuine smile spread across his face.

It certainly wasn’t the _best_ Christmas ever, but in that moment, it truly felt like there was peace on Earth.


End file.
